Wait a Minute
by JaspreetPink
Summary: GinnyHermione femslash. Please don't kill me with the OOC club, because Ginny is purposefully out of charcter, acting like a ditzy American. Hey, I thought it'd be funny! Someone is leaving roses on Ginny's bed...


Okay, so today was Valentine's Day. And me, little Ginny Weasley was without a boyfriend, or a date. Which probably isn't so bad, I mean, guys are dumb. Last year I was with Michael Corner, and he gave me the stupidest little valentine. Glad I cut him off. Okay he dumped me, but I was about to break up with him, honestly.

The point is, I came into the dorm tonight, all sad and stuff, and I saw this single red rose lying on my bed, no note, but magiced to glow with red light. I must say, it was pretty and classy--I loved it.

Now, I may have had a crush on Harry Potter once, but I totally don't think about him like that now. He's a cool guy, sure. But what's he got going for him? Fighting evil and all, it might impress a first year, but I've been part of the big fight, not so impressive. And I know the black hair green eyes thing sounds nice on paper, but he's really a scruffy looking boy. Not hot at all. No way. Well, a little.

Okay, I'm a decent seeker and I can play chaser and keeper if needed, so I've become a Quidditch alternative. That means I've been spending more time with Harry. And yeah, the boy is really bland. Nice, definitely, but boring as hell.

Point is, when I saw that rose, all glowy, Harry Potter was not the first name that came to my head. ...It was the only name that came to my head. And I spent many sleepless hours that night thinking of how he suddenly saw me and liked me. Until it hit me—Harry is in no way romantic to do something like this. Plus he's totally clueless when it comes to women. I swear, if the hottest witch in the world came up to him and asked him to magic away her clothes, he'd have no clue what to do. Plus, the only spells he's good at are evil-killing spells—to kill evil, not kill evilly.

Oh well, this will have to wait to tomorrow; I have a Transfiguration exam in the morning.

Okay, there is something you need to know about my brother: he's a total tool. The twins were funny, Percy was stuffy, Charlie was athletic, and Bill was the ultimate cool. And Ron is a tool.

So I was at breakfast, and I see Hermione is trying to study, or maybe save the world or something—but she was busy. And mister lame-ass boyfriend is all over her. Jeez, why don't guys know when to back off? Michael used do that too—wanting to make-out all the time. I think Harry was secretly laughing his ass off—he thinks Ron and Hermione are cute—says he saw it coming since their fourth year. But lets remember, not smart in the girl department.

So I tell them about the rose. Harry's barely listening, which could be a cover-up, but probably not. Ron goes into full tool mode, ranting and raving about the precious virginity of his little sister—well, that's what he meant anyway. I'm so sick of just being his sister, 'course could be worse, could be one among many brothers instead of the sole girl. Eat that, Tooly McTool!

"...And how did he get in your room anyway? There's a barriers for boys..."

"Ron, ever heard of an owl?" I say just to shut him up. Like that would really work, him shutting up. He keeps blabbing until Hermione chides him. Seriously, there is no other word than chide.

"So Hermione, what do you think?" I say.

Then, she looks up from her book, and looks at me really weird, not good weird or anything but like I had zucchini sticking out my ear or something. Her nose scrunched and everything.

Then she looked back at her book and said, "Good for you, Ginny."

Oookay? I think she knows something.

During break I decide to grill her for info.

"Soooo Hermione, spill it!" I say.

"Spill?" she asks.

"I think you know who left that rose. Maybe you put it there for whoever sent it, I mean, it'd be easier than getting an owl."

"You're being very silly, Ginny," she says, totally avoiding the question—wait, I never asked a question. Damn.

"Come on, girl over here dying with curiosity!" I try pouting. But she isn't going for it, so I switch topics. "So, how exactly do you turn a teapot into a turtle?"

Side note to myself: cut back on coffee.

Second side note: find this guy who's oh-so-romantic.

So I come back to the dorm, and this time there's a yellow rose sitting in the curtain ties at each bedpost, and two red ones entwined magically on the bed, all of them glowing. And there's a note.

Please don't try to find out who I am, but please know I love you and think of you. Your secret admirer.

At least I know this guy isn't Harry, because I've stolen his parchment many a time and pored over it, memorizing the handwriting—um, when I was a first year only, I swear. But why doesn't he want me to know—Oo, hope it isn't Neville. 

And I swear, an owl couldn't arrange everything like this. Some one's working on the inside.

"Oh Hermione, you must know something, at least which girl is setting up stuff on my bed?" I ask, sitting on her bed in the empty dorm. "And don't think I'm fishing for you to tell me its Harry, because I know he's romantically retarded and I know his handwriting, and the note isn't his." Unless he had some one else write it...

Stop it, it's not him.

Killjoy.

Now that the inner conversation is over, I see Hermione looking sort of...wretched. And my newfound silliness is sort of stripped from me, seeing her sad, when I've spent all day pestering her.

"Uh, Hermione, you don't have to tell me. I'm sorry if I've been a little hyper lately. Probably my way of coping with the doom of You-Know-Who being risen." I look down at my shoes. And when I look up, I see Hermione, in tears. "W-what's wrong Hermione?"

"Me. I did it."

What???????

"I put the flowers in your room Ginny."

"W-why?" I ask.

She laughs bitterly through her tears. "Don't you know?" her voice is getting high-pitched. "I have a crush on you."

I expect her to kiss me or something, I mean, isn't that what she's supposed to do? But she's frozen, and I'm frozen. And I take the opportunity to wonder, seriously to contemplate what I want to happen and what I think of her. I stare out the window, and I feel her get off the bed, and when I turn to her she's putting laundry in her trunk, like she didn't just say she's into me.

"Hermione, can I ask you something?" I say.

"Sure."

"Where does it come from, the liking me thing?" I pause. "Why do you love me?"

She thinks before she answers. "You're beautiful. I love the curve of your neck. You make me feel all warm by looking at you. You drive me crazy when you talk to me, and ironically I feel less like a prig when you're around. I love the way you can bounce through your life then sober up quickly, like you did just now. I love the sound of your voice. Ginny one night I realized, while staying in your room at the Burrow, lying inches away from you on a cot that my heart beat so fast just from being near you. Is that reason enough?" She seemed lost, really, after revealing her heart like that.

"Aren't you going out with my brother, Ron?" I ask all of a sudden. "If I'm going to kiss you, you better wash your lips first, I don't want to be kissing my brother or anything—that's plain gross." I sigh for good measure.

I look at her, and see her completely shocked. But then she places a finger in the glass of water on the nightstand, and runs it across her lips.

Like a cat I go to her, and I push her against a wall. I tilt my chin up ever so sweetly and press my lips hard against hers. After some French-kissing I pull away to say something.

"My turn. Let's see, I love you because you're a mess when you cry and a bossy know-it-all a lot of the time, and you try hard no matter what you're doing, even when being romantic and secretive. Also you taste good and if I had to move away from you right now it'd be like ripping out a vital organ."

"How vital?" she asks in a dazed kissing voice.

"Oh, more than lungs."


End file.
